


Semptember

by Whereveryouwant



Category: Chris Evans - Fandom, Real Person Fiction, Real Person RPF
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Female Friendship, Historical References, Homophobia, Please PLEASE READ THE NOTES AND TAGS, Racism, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, The Great Gatsby References, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2018-08-14 04:33:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7998763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whereveryouwant/pseuds/Whereveryouwant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seeing him in person, feeling his particular breath and with his musky scent in the tip of her tongue, it all made him appear to her like a pure force of nature: The way his full lips stretched to the cheeks that somewhere retained the softness of childhood, the way his eyelids clenched during a particularly funny scene, the pink tongue resting, innocent, in the pearly white teeth, tears of happiness unshod midst the blue of his eyes, so warm, so open, it all seemed to her like the big tornados that ravaged the coast of that country, so cold and inhospitable, so unlike him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. March

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'm new at posting in this site and english is not my primary language, so please be kind. I've been translating some of my works and I though you guys could like this one. Constructive criticism is very -very- welcome. Enjoy your reading and read the end notes!

 

**(Florence and the Machines: Ship to Wreck)**

**Don't touch the sleeping pills**

**They mess with my head**

**Dredging the Great White Sharks, swimming in the bed**

**Here comes a Killer Whale to sing me to sleep**

**Thrashing the covers off, it has me buy into teeth**  

Boston is the house of the New England Patriots and one of the most liberal states in the whole East Coast. The proximity with Nova York though, didn’t fool Y/N; she doubted that the habitants of the city where Daria Morgendorffer went to graduate would be anything beyond the Tumblr caricatures of the classical “Red-Neck” American. She would be going to Massachusetts, for Christ’s Sake!

Despite that fact and the doubts that were clouding Y/N thoughts, it was to Boston that she was going and no amount of awareness and anxiety would change that fact. The Boston college conceded her a very generous scholarship for a master degree, thanks to her excellent grades and the very well thought project of studying the Fitzgerald’s influences in the modernists art circles of America and Europe during the 20’s. It would be a unique opportunity to study in one of the best literature departments in the whole U.S and it would be certainly something to be proud about in her résumé. So, it was to Boston that Y/N was going, seated uncomfortably in a reclined chair at 45 degrees in the economic class of one of the cheapest companies that still flight that time of the year.

It was March and the spring was just starting, the few strings of sunny rays breaking through big and gray clouds. The defrosting didn’t start and the streets were still covered in a flimsy layer of ice. The airplane landed smoothly, but Y/N cold swear on God’s name she sensed the big machine skidding in the frosted airstrip. She was going to rent a small apartment downtown (which she already had fondly nicknamed it “shoebox”) with a small amount of money her friends gave it to her when the big news of her master being accepted came.

It was an old building, almost decrepit; the central heating were nonexistent, the bathroom shower were always leaking thanks to the old and defective plumbing, there were loose boards on the flooring and the landlord already warned her that switching the microwave and the refrigerator together could start a fire in the whole floor. In spite of this, though, it was a private place, and mostly important, her own as long as the landlord kept the contract. The comforts of a renovation or even a new apartment could come later, after her master and a decent job. For now, the lovely shoebox would suffice.

However, the biggest surprise Boston hold for Y/N was with absolutely certain, Emma. She was a girl-woman about the same age as Y/N, with long strands of blond hair, the color of straw, which brushed against her back, and big expressive blue eyes. Born in the Mississippi, Emma was being housed by her rich uncle to do her master degree at the Boston College, thanks to a scholarship that she had also received. She had an easy laugh, a keen sense of humor that never leaved her regardless of the situation, and a small, old, almost vintage, turquoise bicycle that no one seemed to know the model. The friendship between the two flourished fast and in the matter of weeks it seemed to everyone that they have know each other for decades.

They liked the same books, the same songs, the same historical periods. They skipped Sr. Winston class of advanced literary studies to drink hot, pure black coffee at the nameless bar near the dorms, listening to bad jazz covers and chatting. Emma would bring all the leftover she could get at her uncle’s house and bring to Y/N on Sunday nights and Y/N would let Emma stay every time she fought with her aunt and was kicked out of the house. She would wait for Y/N, patiently, everyday at 8 a.m, so they could both go together to the campus. And after classes, they would both go to their respective jobs at the length of Chestnut Hill, where Y/N would go up to serve tables at an expensive 5 star restaurant and Emma would go down to a charming pastry shop. They would yell ridiculous music to each other, each on their own way, until their voices couldn’t be heard by the other. 

**What's with the long face? Do you want more?**

**Thousands of red-eyed mice, scratching at the door**

**Don't let the currents catch you, cos you've been here before**

**The chair is in high land darling, you can't touch the floor**

            It was a dark and cloudy monday morning. The ice wouldn’t break thanks to the big and fat clouds that covered the sky by the end of May. The sunbeams almost didn’t appear between the gray clouds, the cold wind and the naked trees that struggle to survive the winter. They were both at the cafe, near the college, in one of the rare combined day-offs they took together at the middle of the week. Emma seemed nervous that morning; she had agreed to meet her cousin that was coming back home (in which Emma was being sheltered, since her uncle was the father of said cousin) and she insisted, strongly, that Y/N didn’t “scream, have an outbreak, cry or embarrassed her in any way whatsoever” even if Y/N couldn’t quite understand why Emma was asking that of her. Sure, she had some funny stories circulating through the freshman, mostly about her clumsy ways and sex life, but sure Emma didn’t believe Y/N would attack her cousin or drop things on him on purpose?

            Emma cell ringed its funny tone, and the blond hurried outside to pick the call, while Lotte (one of Y/N and Emma’s friends of Sr. Winston class) came of the old, decrepit stage holding the great Steinway piano. “ _Surely the cousin must have arrived_ ”, Y/N though, looking thought the window to her friend that hurried across the street. 

**And oh my love remind me, what was it that I said?**

**I can't help but pull the earth around me, to make my bed**

**And oh my love remind me, what was it that I did?**

**Did I drink too much? Am I losing touch?**

**Did I build this ship to wreck?**

 Y/N went to the piano, thinking that playing one or two songs wouldn’t hurt anyone. The cousin could even take hours to reach the campus, anyway.

She seated herself at the old bench and put her fingers in the long and marble keys; they were still warm to the touch, thanks to Lotte’s touch. She pressed the first couple of notes, the melody coming easy to her mind. Y/N had started studying piano at Boston, in a free music class the students gave every week to anyone interested in piano or violin. She had grown to like the sound of the instrument, and it became, with each passing day, more satisfying to play and learn new songs.

\- _Birds do it, bees do it._ – Y/N voice came shy, gaining more confidence by the end of the sentence. Despite not very challenging, she had a soft spot for Cole Porter and his production. The notes came softly, well executed, and the simplicity of the composition became irrelevant when played in such a magnificent instrument.

\- _Even educated fleas do it. Let's do it, let's fall in love. In Spain, the best upper sets do it. Lithuanians and Letts do it. Let's do it, let's fall in love_. – The notes came easily to her mind and were played skillfully, her painted nails meeting the white and black keys like old newly found friends. Her mind registered the bell above the entry door ringing, but it were soon forgotten when the next verse came to her mind. Soon, the whole universe ceased to exist; the only real and tangible reality being the succession of white and black keys to be pressed, the next sentences to be singed, all in one rhythm. Someone in the cafe started singing, others clapped their hands and the only thing Y/N consciousness could focus were in the song, 1, 2 3, 4, and in scenes that happened through her closed eyes, like old memories, echoing, long forgotten. 

**(Cole Porter - Let's do It)**

**When the little bluebird**

**Who has never said a word**

**Starts to sing Spring**

**When the little bluebell**

**At the bottom of the dell**

**Starts to ring Ding dong Ding dong**

**When the little blue clerk In the middle of his work**

**Starts a tune to the moon up above**

**It is nature that is all**

**Simply telling us to fall in love**

The music ended and a shy round of applause was heard in the ambient. Y/N came down the stage, high-fiving Lotte in her way to the table, where Emma and what appeared to be a man, trying to hide his face with the brim of his cap, were now seated.

\- So. – She started, sliding gently to the bench pointing to the men, now seated between her and Emma that was trying to comically hide from the other occupants of the café.

\- Stop that! – Emma said to the man, elbowing him in the ribs. – Do you really think anyone here gives any fucks?

Y/N retrieved her mug with now lukewarm coffee, drinking heavily. There was baggage around the table, probably being the belongings of the said cousin, that out of his shy gaze, noted that no one in the cafe, indeed, was giving any attention to them.

\- Y/N – Emma called, waking Y/N from her thoughts. – I want to introduce you to someone. Chris, this is my friend Y/N Y/M Y/L. Y/N, this is my cousin Chris Evans.

Y/N forced her best smile out, offering her hands of warm fingers and painted nails to the stranger that took it promptly in a handshake. He seemed more comfortable now, and gave Y/N a smile of his own.

And even with the New England Patriots cap, the aviator sunglasses and the gray hoodie, she couldn’t have ever mistaken that face anywhere.

Because Chris were Chris Evans. Chris Evans was shaking hands with her. Chris Evans was Emma’s Evans cousin because Emma was _one of that Evans of Boston_.

All the pieces of the puzzle clicked together at once in Y/N head and she could feel her heartbeat start to grow and her arms turn into jelly. Suddenly, all the lucky that have failed her in all her life came crashing down at once; arranging this perfect coincidence.

\- Chris is an actor. An excellent actor, for that matter. He has done lots of famous movies and has lots of fans. – Emma broke the silence, looking fondly at her cousin.

The woman must have something nasty in her birth chart to have such a talent for making people uncomfortable. Chris looked at her slightly annoyed, his cheeks dusted with pink.  

**Cold Cape Cod clams, 'gainst their wish, do it**

**Even lazy jellyfish do it**

**Let's do it, let's fall in love**

Of course Y/N knew who he was. He was Captain America, Johnny Storm, famous american idol that worked for both Disney and Marvel and had thousands, if not millions of dollars in his bank account. The most reblogged actor of Tumblr, with one of the biggest fandoms, the icon of American beauty, _that_ Chris Evans.

\- Of course! – Y/N snapped, calling the attention back to her, as soon as she realized that the blond won’t leave the topic until she get a reaction of her friend, exactly like _she didn’t want to happen_. – You played Curtis, right? From Snowpiercer! God, I love that movie, is one of my favorites ever!

He sat up immediately, looking into Y/N eye’s through the dark lenses. She saw the exact moment when his brain processed out the sentence she just said and the expression in his face turned from apprehension into excitement.

\- Did you watch it? – He asked, completely forgetting about the anxiety that was engulfing him mere seconds ago.

\- Of course I did! How couldn’t I? Was of the releases of the year! How was to make it, did you enjoy yourself?

Of course she had watched. She had watched every single movie he did from the beginning of his career to this very day. She knew all his lines by heart, could say without even blink all the movies he was in. And of course she had seen and read interviews, public events or pretty much anything about him she could put her hands on. And therefore she knew he passed some pretty hard times in his career, doubting his skills, thinking that he was simply wasting his life, recording superhero movies that no one cared about. So it wouldn’t hurt try to boost up his self-image, exalting the only movie he did outside Hollywood, right?

He soon started talking excitedly about the whole production, his character, his creation process and most of all, Tilda Swinton and her amazing adaptability. It all soon followed to him telling with details how different the green screen and cgi experience were from his other movies.

Y/N just smile and listened to the flood of personal information the man was just giving up. There was something magical watching him, such a powerful and famous man, light up like a Christina’s tree when talking about a rewarding experience. His pearly white teeth gleamed happy with saliva of the nonstop monologue he kept and there was a glint of happiness in his eyes that were unmistakable even with the sunglasses. Y/N heart warmed at the scene.

Poor Emma, on the other hand, was completely lost in the conversation, since she didn’t like movies that weren’t the blockbuster type.

\- Wow. – Emma interrupted, looking slightly baffled. – I thought you were going to recognize him because of Captain America, like a normal person would.

\- Haha, I suppose he did that movie too. – Y/N said, slightly hurt by the tone of her friend. – but it wasn’t the first thing that came to my mind.

\- I thought it would be – Emma continued, putting her arm around her cousin’s neck, in an affectionate manner – with all the 35 millimeters you have been watching about Cap lately.

Chris’s head turned 180 degrees to look into his cousin’s eyes.

\- 35 millimeters? Of Cap?!

Emma smirked.

\- It’s for Y/N you have to ask; I’m the one who doesn’t understand anything about cinema.

Y/N smirked.

\- Well, I imagine you know that Cap was made as a way to boost the morale of the american citizens and as a propaganda character during the II World War? – Chris made an affirmative movement with his head. – happens that, as any good propaganda, his short clips were put before and after the movies in the war and post-war period. The college found some movie wheels storage away in some basement somewhere and they wanted to edit it and distribute online. And as it happens, the movies are complete, including the propaganda clips. – Y/N finished, looking expectantly to the little audience.

Chris smirked.

\- And… do you think you could show me those clips? – He asked, looking from Emma to Y/N.

Y/N winked.

 

Thirty Five minutes later, Chris, Y/N, and Emma were seated comfortably, in this very order, at the campus auditorium, while Lotte played the big wheels on the analog projectors. Someone of the team chosen to sort and edit the wheels (which Y/N was obliged to participate, since no one wanted to volunteer to stay locked, 3 days at a week, in a room with piles of high flammable and toxic material just for the sake of art) suggested that Y/N could copy all the commercials and attached them into a new wheel. She, knowing that it would be too much work for no reward whatsoever, copied only the Cap ones, for pure personal satisfaction. While the scenes where projected and both her companions laughed beside her, she thanked whoever god put it on her head to made a wheel just for Cap.

Chris, with his profile lit by the subtle hues of whites, blacks and grays, chuckled at any nonsense Captain America was doing. He was without his glasses or cap, and Y/N could see his face fully now. He had a very traditional american beauty, of blond hair, round face and blue eyes, so stereotypically and so handsome in him. Seeing him in person, feeling his particular breath and with his musky scent in the tip of her tongue, it all made him appear to her like a pure force of nature: The way his full lips stretched to the cheeks that somewhere retained the softness of childhood, the way his eyelids clenched during a particularly funny scene, the pink tongue resting, innocent, in the pearly white teeth, tears of happiness unshod midst the blue of his eyes, so warm, so open, it all seemed to her like the big tornados that ravaged the coast of that country, so cold and inhospitable, so unlike him.

A pair of blue eyes met hers, disrupting her thoughts. His cheeks were flushed, his lips stretched into a big smile. His amusement was so great that a thread of spit connected his chin to his tongue. Y/N knew she had to turn her face and pretend that she wasn’t facing him so shamelessly, that she need to pretend that nothing had happened, that she wasn’t interested in engrave his whole face into her memory forever, that she-

She could see the exact moment were the shine in the blue eyes turned from fun to understanding, when the smile changed from amusement to surprise, when the cheeks leaved the dust pink of laughter and turned a bright pink of embarrassment.

 _Turn your face. Turn your face and pretend this never happened_. Y/N thought.

 _Turn your face. Turn your face and pretend this never happened_. Chris thought.

 _The student looked at Christopher while he was laughing, in a way that every man wants to be looked at sometime, and because it seemed romantic to me I have remembered the incident ever since_. It was all Emma could think, observing the scene by her seat. 

 

**Some Argentines, without means do it**

**I hear even Boston beans do it**

**Let's do it, let's fall in love**


	2. March: Rollercoaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dancing games can settle all types of strife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too long. But I finished my graduation, started my masters and couldn’t quite settle for this chapter till today. It's still not one of my favorites, but the need to continue the history is bigger than my perfectionism. Hope you all enjoy even though it’s not beta'd.

\- Let me tell y’a. – Emma whispered to Y/N during Tuesday morning class. – I thought you and my cousin were going to fall into each other arms right there. I mean, you were staring at each other like dogs on heat…

            Y/N only grunted in frustration. Emma could be incredible annoying when she knew something the person didn’t want to be remembered about. Since yesterday afternoon when both of the cousins turned to go the house in the expensive side of the city and Y/N went to “lovely shoebox”, Emma didn’t let the matter drop. She simply couldn’t let it go, making allusive posts on tumblr, messaging about it ceaselessly, dedicating La Vie en Rose on facebook to “the lovebirds” or talking personally, like she was doing now.

            When Christopher realized Y/N eyes were on him, she knew she had to look away. She would be considered rude in the best scenario, but there was something intriguing into looking deep into the blue eyes and seeing the changes in his features. He was incredible expressive in person, fact that she couldn’t realize with all the blockbuster movies he did and that only became clear when she started seeing interviews and non-comercial movies and that now it was more than verified. It was fascinating seeing the clean lines changing in his face right in front of her.

            That had nothing to do with the blush that spread across his cheeks or the way his lips seemed full and inviting. Nothing at all.

\- But you know what, you should be grateful. – Emma continued her monologue, hardly noticing her friend’s distaste to the conversation at hand. – Since my cousin, you know? That one you were glaring at yesterday? Was completely airy this morning and couldn’t pay attention to anything around him, even to his own father. My bet? He was thinking about you. If in a positive or negative way, though…  

Y/N was trying to pay attention to whatever Mrs. Smith said, but as soon as she heard the words _airy, thinking and you_ , her head made a 90 degrees movement and she asked too loud:

\- WHAT?!

\- Miss Y/L, what exactly you did not understand? The syntactic elements of literature or its specific case in Hemingway’s?

            All the students turned in their seat to watch Y/N, who felt the warmth rise to her cheeks that would be, with absolutely sure, a bright pink.

            By the mercy of God, a stream of students peaked through the door on the hallway, indicating to those still in the auditorium that the class period was in fact, over. The students quickly starting packing their things, saving Y/N to sum up whatever lie she could muster to elude Mrs. Smith question. The professor only asked her to keep the question in mind for the next week, and between hurried students, Emma and her friend left the class.

\- Oh my God! - Emma said, as soon as they left the auditorium. – You truly are interested in him! Holy Cow! – And between shrieking exaggeratedly, Emma followed her friend to the parking lot, ignoring completely the angrily glares Y/N shot her.

            The other students stopped in their tracks to watch Emma and her preposterous laugh, and Y/N felt her exasperation rise to unimaginable levels just by standing next to the woman. When they arrived, Y/N simply continued walking towards Chestnut Hill, her angry steps resonating against the pavement. Emma, oblivious to her friend’s irritation, unlocked her bicycle from the space it was currently parked and tried to help her friend onto it, receiving only a shove from Y/N and an angry shout.

\- WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?! Can you please stop being so childish for like, one second?! – Y/N shouted at the blond, turning her back to her friend, walking home.

\- Because you liked him! – Emma countered, happy and giggling – Because you were so “ _Huh, I’m not like most fangirls, so immature and childish, I’m different_ ” but in the first opportunity you just felt for him like a schoolgirl! – She continued, zigzagging her bike around her friend and trying to mimic her voice. – And because I’m going to help you, since I’m such a good friend, and then you can thank me for all eternity! – She finished, shooting Y/N a grin before following home. Y/N only scoffed and followed her way.

            Y/N arrived home with Emma’s words ringing in her head. She had a job interview in a local Publisher and were skipping a day at the restaurant without even notified her manager. “Fuck it”, she thought, while she looked for her keys inside her purse. When she found them, the dented metal slipped thought her fingers and fell, tinkling softly. “Shit!” she thought while she grabbed the keys. Since the morning she was feeling aerial and distracted; she dropped her t-shirt on the wet bathroom floor, wasted a good part of her favorite moisturizer, dropped a glass of milk in the wooden floor; only to arrive in college and stumble in the parked bicycles there, dropping a few of them. Her clumsiness only stopped when Emma arrived and helped her to get by the day without further incidents. Christopher’s image of yesterday was imprinted in the front part of her mind; his blue eyes, the pink cheeks and plump lips playing over and over in her head in a nonstop motion, since that afternoon when she turned her face and pretended, too late, that nothing had happened.

It would be the first time in quite a while that she didn’t felt the way she was feeling now. The butterflies in her stomach, the clumsiness and the memories only worsening the constant state of giddiness that had taken hold of her since yesterday. She was a – kind of – person sure of herself; of what she was, of what she could do and where she belonged. She knew which piece she was and how to play the game; but Chris had arrived; and his mere presence had knocked over the board and remade the rules. And that game, his game, she didn’t know how to play

            Y/N changed, ate some leftover and went out again, as heedless as she was during morning. The interview was made in the same way, as evasive as a summer dream, as airy as the night sky, and Y/N called it a miracle that she was able to answer all the questions. Half an hour in an uninviting room and the same woman who interviewed her came back, holding a mass of papers and congratulating her for getting the job. Her turmoil was so great she didn’t even felt surprised by the news.

The admission process went quickly, and by the time she left the building it wasn’t still 5 o’clock. Thinking twice and taking deep breaths, Y/N headed to Sweet’s.

 

            When the little bell twinkled above the door indicating that someone arrived at the shop, Mrs. Hawley, the owner, hastily took out her apron and tossed on the balcony, passing through the heavy drapes of velvet that divided the front and back part of the shop. Not only a moment later, Emma appeared wearing a smeared apron and with her hair tucked tightly in a bun in the top of her head. Her face was seared with cake frosting.  

\- Hello doll. – she started, shooting Y/N a toothy grin. – You come here often?

            Y/N only snorted in response and seated in one of the high stools in front of the counter.

\- How was it? – She asked, heading to the cappuccino machine and starting making a coffee for her friend.

\- Is she ok? – Y/N asked, pointing to the immobile curtain. – I thought she had overcome our friendship already.

\- She thinks we are lesbians. – Emma said with a humorless laughter. – And she thinks that you scare the customers. She only let me stay working here and be at the counter when you arrive because my caneloles are the best. She never found anyone who did them better than me. And yes, she tried – Emma concluded, handing to Y/N her favorite coffee and pastry in a delicate, light blue china.

            Both remained silent for a moment, each lost on their own thoughts. The only sound permeating the surroundings was the light scrap of the fork against porcelain.

\- I got the job. – Y/N broke the silence.

\- So... what’s wrong? – The blond asked, resting chin on top of her crossed arms on the counter.

            Y/N took long seconds fighting against her inner monologue to decide what to say to her friend.

\- I’m afraid. I’m uncertain. I don’t know how to act. – Y/N answered with only a whisper.

            Emma said nothing for a while. She just stayed unmovable, looking to her friend with her blue, blue eyes, so like him they looked almost the same.

\- It’s just a guy, right? It’s what you always say to me. – The blond responded gravely, rubbing gentle circles in Y/N’s hands resting on the counter. – And to start our scheme, I need you to come to my uncle’s house tonight. With a desert, if you may.

 

 

            Two hours later, Y/N found herself on top of the cheerful carpet in the front of the house; her foots resting against the “WELCOME!” typos. She looked around, anxious, waiting for someone to open the door for her. It had been Emma’s idea, obviously, so Y/N was basically crashing Christopher Welcome Dinner that night. She felt extremely uncomfortable with the idea, and her friend needed to use a healthy dose of persuasion to make her come. And it had worked until now, when Y/N started reconsidering why she was there and if it wasn’t better to just go home and pretend this never had happened.

            Interrupting her train of thoughts, Emma suddenly opened the door, a devious grin plastered on her face.

\- Hi, sorry. – she said in fast succession, taking the raspberry pie of Y/N hands and closing the door with her hips. – Just, stay calm. – she continued, guiding her friend through the expensively decorated corridors, - smile and agree with everything they say. This way we can both make out of this evening alive.

            Y/N focused her attention on the house, trying desperately to ignore the creeping feeling of despair rising in the back of her throat. “ _Not here, not now_ ” she thought, while focusing all her attention at the house. It was a beautiful house, with that kind of beige, brown and maroon ostentation we often see at movies. It had high foot walls with rustic brick work and skylights that shone the light of the stars inside the house. It was decorated with big furniture and old looking lights, in a very, almost ridiculous, American way.

            Emma took her through hallways and rooms that looked pretty much the same to remember, and the insistent oozing of voices became an uproar of laughing when they arrived at the dining room.

 

\- Guys, hey! – Emma called the attention while she put the pie in a table at the corner of the room. – This the friend I often talk about, Y/N Y/L. Y/N, this are my uncles Lysa and Bob, cousins Shanna, Scott, Carly and Chris, which you already know.

            It was about twenty people sited at the table, looking expectantly to Y/N who started sweating out of anxiety. She had no idea who Shanna, Carly or Lysa were since Emma didn’t make any distinction between the names and the people present. She presumed that Bob was the big man sitting at the head of the table, and it was to him that she went, the nervousness sipping through her clothes, offering him her hand and saying “ _Hi, my name is Y/N Y/M Y/L and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance_ ”. The man looked from the hand to Y/N’s face and started a laugh so loud it reverberated through the room.

\- HÁ HÁ HÁ! AND WHERE THIS LITTLE LADY WAS EDUCATED, HUM? WE ARENT IN THE MOTHER LAND, GIRL! HÁ! LOOK AT THAT LYSA, IN A WHILE SHE WILL ASK TEA TO FOLLOW THE DINNER!

            There was a vivacity in the blue eyes that were easy unrecognizable by the rudeness and indecorum that emanated from Bob. Y/N winced, feeling her cheeks grow pink.

            Emma felt Y/N discomfort, and quickly put her sited next to her on the table, starting to serve dinner and trying to diverge the attention of the other guests far away from her friend.

            But it didn’t worked. Since Bob seemed resolute to discover where Y/N where from and why she talked “like a petulant English lady”. It was with crescent disbelief that Y/N saw the conversation turn from the candidates of the American elections and direct completely to herself. And it looked that the Evans always had something to talk about, from her appearance, the color of her skin, the shape of her eyes, the sound of her voice, the style of her hair to the popular culture and “social behaviors” of her homeland.

            The chapter of “The Great Gatsby” never made so much sense till that moment, when she listened, quietly, the flood of racist and offensive set of “opinions” the family had about herself and the people that, in that particular moment, she was representing in that house. They couldn’t understand; couldn’t feel empathy towards a culture that wasn’t their own. And it was paradoxical to realize that, despite their “opinions”, they didn’t seem particularly malicious; what they demonstrated was the best their environment taught them to be. The energy and natural curiosity couldn’t be forgotten even with the worst of insults, and Y/N finally realized that, just like Daisy, the Evans family were careless people who were not educated enough to care about anyone besides themselves.

            The dinner was served, the pie eaten in record time, Lysa and Shanna came carrying big, black teapots with fresh brewed coffee, and yet everyone remained on the table, talking about Y/N. Suddenly, she realized, that they were expecting to see her reaction and whatever the reaction be, it would finally put an end to the succession of painful things she had to heard through the entire dinner.

 

\- I know a way we can settle this matter. – Y/N broke off the conversation, projecting her voice to the big skylights in the ceiling. Everyone stopped talking, paying attention to her next words, a look of incredulity in the faces of the Evans. The woman took the cup to her lips, drinking a long sip of coffee, waiting just to increase the expectations of her audience.

\- Why you – she said, pointing her painted nails to Bob, who looked at her with surprise and mirth in his blue eyes, while herself looked at the XBOX resting in the carpeted floor on the living room nearby – don’t choose someone of your family to face me on Just Dance and we settle this subject one and for all?

 

            The perplexing silence lasted only two seconds before exploding in a cacophony of laughter and shouting, while the kids raised their hands to volunteer and the adults kept looking at Y/N with a different kind of curiosity. Everyone seemed to be looking at her with new eyes, as if they were truly seeing her for the first time.

\- I will go. – It was the first relevant thing Chris said besides trying to fix his parents opinions all night and Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realized she was holding.

 

 

\- I’m so incredibly sorry. – He managed to say while everyone went to the living room, in the few spare seconds he had with her since the cinema. Y/N tried to answer, but the kids arrived pushing him away from her with the excuse that the competitors couldn’t be seeing talking, and the moment was lost. She just kept following him with her hungry eyes, focusing on the way his laugh seemed to light up an entire room.

 

Five minutes later, the whole family arrived at the living room, where a truly competition for the empty seats begun. The members squeezed themselves into the sofas and armchairs and the few available corners, giving both the competitors all the space available for the game. The argument, whoever, started again, since no one knew exactly what song would be fitting into this contest and would be most fair and fun to play with. The adults kept asking the children which song they preferred, while the kids offered song which half of the adults in the room have never even heard about. Bob and Lysa, on the other hand, kept a heated discussion about which song could be used to demonstrate the perfect american spirit, since, just as they have said it, an “ethnic song” wouldn’t be fair to Chris to dance on.

            Y/N just eye rolled, selecting _(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life_ in the game, waiting that the Dirty Dance Classic would just shut the family up.

            It worked. Everyone calmed down almost instantly and in a few seconds the song begun and everyone started singing along and cheering for Chris (or in poor’s Emma case, Y/N) while the first steps of the song appeared in a fast and colorful manner in the screen.

            Chris danced in an enthusiastic way, but even his obvious will to win were not a match for Y/N and the years of practice she had dancing that same song with the children of her own family. During the first minutes of the dance, Chris attention was completely focused on the screen, trying to assimilate the dance steps, and Y/N get the lead in the game score executing the steps perfectly and singing along to get extra points. It was only when the sequences of hugs started that Y/N thought that it didn’t seem a good idea to choose that song. Yet, Christopher was having fun, and it was obvious by his scandalous laugher and the general uproar happening, while shouts of “ _do the jump thing! Do the jump thing!_ ” filled in every corner and every crevice in the living room

            When the song finally came to its quarter to finish, Y/N was thanking God and whichever deities she could remember for deciding to go with pants at the dinner; when the last chords started to play, the shouting started to overdo the music and the only thing that could be heard in the room was “ _the jump thing!_ ” from the Evans.  Y/N felt a pair of eyes piercing the right side of her face and incredulously she thought “ _He can’t be serious, right?!_ ”

            Her reluctance didn’t stand two seconds when, thanks to the adrenaline in her blood and the synchronized shouting from the Evans Family, Y/N made her mind and, making distance of the man, ran back the few steps that separated her and Chris, and taking leverage in his strong shoulders, she jumped.

            Christopher took her with the easiness he could have muster to for a pillow, as if the pounds she counted almost obsessively every day didn’t count for anything, and rose her 180 degrees while her arms got support in his forearms. The Evans applauded, cheered and shouted behind the both of them, pleased with the show and with a renew sympathy for the woman.

Being hold in thin air like your weight didn’t mean anything was a hell of an experience, she decided, as Chris put her down delicately, the both of them flustered by the effort, laughing. Emma was giving tiny jumps around her cousin with the kids following her, all of them exalting Chris for his impressive physical strength. 

 

            The fun provided by the pair seemed enough to distract the Family from subjects so hard to deal with and the reunion continued with a cheerful and light air until the first hours of morning. The kids were put to bed hours before, and finally their parents followed their lead, distributing themselves in the 2 guest bedrooms the Evans house had. Lysa insisted for Y/N to stay the rest of the night, saying that it was too dark, too late and too dangerous for a young woman to be walking alone in the streets and Y/N gave in, staying with Emma in her room, and they laughed more until both of them felt sleep, Y/N dreams permeated by blue eyes and musky scents.

 

            It was six o’clock, only a few hours after she felt sleep. The foreign bed, the foreign smells, the foreign position of furniture, it all contributed for the feeling of displacement to disrupt her sleeping. She turned and tossed in the sleeping bag Emma gave her, to no avail; the sleep didn’t want to come back. Getting up, Y/N padded quietly to the kitchen, rationalizing that a glass of water may calm her well enough to will her body back to sleep. Her feet caused the minimum of noise in the wooden floor and soon she reached the stairs, taking a step at time.

             

            Chris was already there. His body was framed by the first lights of morning, giving him a greyish aura. Only his profile was seen, deep in thought, the sweat in his brow and the pupils blow wide unmistakable even in the dim light. His body was tense, unmovable. He seemed lost, lifeless and pathetic, like a doll abandoned in a corner.

            Y/N thought about turning back and returning to Emma’s room, but at this moment his eyes darted to her, the sudden look causing shivers to run down her spine.

\- Stay. You are not interrupting anything.

            He must have sensed her uneasiness, she thought, but the fake smile didn’t conceal his pale complexion or the fear that still permeated his eyes.

\- I’m sorry if I’m interrupting anything. – She said, walking down the rest of the steps, measuring his responses. – It wasn’t my intention.

\- It’s fine. – He said. His voice was wavering, weak, strained, as if he had freed himself from hands trying to suffocate him just a few seconds ago. His eyes didn’t meet hers.

            The ambient sounds of glass against glass and water running were the only ones resonate through the room. Y/N moved with caution, trying not to disturb whatever was going on in Chris head.

            It seemed hours or days passed, where she just stayed there, silent and immovable, watching him fighting himself to take possession of his own body. The inadequacy never hit her so hard as it had in that moment, where she watched this man, looking completed wrecked, trying to get the reign of himself, while she could do nothing to help.

\- Do you need any help? – She asked finally, breaking Chris chain of thought and receiving a startled look, almost as if he had completely forgot she was there.

            She offered him a glass with water, taking the empty and dry glass from his hands.

            He seemed to notice the empty glass just them, waving his head in acknowledgment and taking a long sip. His hands were shaking still.

\- Thank you, anyway. – He brooked the silence after a while, when the sky was already a completely dark grey and when the tremors stopped. Color was returning to his cheeks.

            Why she stayed there? She didn’t know. All she could think of was the days spent alone in bed, thinking no one really cared, not even to give her an acknowledgement, a glass of water, anything to help dissipate the chaos inside her head.

\- Don’t mention it.  

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so this is just the coincidence that led Reader and Chris to meet. My whole intent into writing this piece was to be realistic: So, reader is a poc, possibly from outside america (or not so connected with american culture, whichever you prefer), they meet and everything is not so great. There will be some characters in this history that will behave in a very offensive way (related to Chris) and the reason is to mimic real life; people are shitty, bad things happen, not always we can avoid those kinds of situations. Everything ends well, though.  
> My intent is not offend anyone in Chris fandom (mostly because I love him too and I’m part of his fandom) and not offend any americans, by any means. The critics that would be appointed in this piece are simply the strangeness that a Reader not used to that culture is feeling.  
> Besides, this is not an song fic but I do use music to create a certain "atmosphere". Feel free to read it whoever you feel more comfortable.  
> I hoped you enjoyed the reading. Comments and kudos are appreciated. Thanks again for your visit!


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